


Conceal

by asweallfallfromgrace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alcohol, Bar fights, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash, i don't know okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweallfallfromgrace/pseuds/asweallfallfromgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's not having a good birthday night. Leonard patches him up after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conceal

**Author's Note:**

> So, for some reason, I have to write in second person when it comes to Jim. Don't question it. :) Also, I have no gorram clue if this is pre-slash or what.

You’re far from sober.

You come to this conclusion as you lie on the floor of the slightly shady bar, blood trickling from your broken nose and onto your civilian shirt. Not exactly a typical pastime of a Starfleet cadet, getting yourself beaten up in drunken bar fights, but you know you have your ways of coping. Specifically, coping with your birthday being a tragedy, and the constant comparisons. 

After all, who’d expect the son of George Kirk, quintessential hero of the Kelvin, to be a drunk?

You’re more dazed than you’d expect, your vision blurred, blotting out your immediate surroundings. You sit up as you try to clear your vision. The bartender’s watching you, seemingly concerned. 

“All right, there?” she asks, and you’re not sure whether you’re glad or pissed that you’re anonymous to her, just another guy wasted on the floor. 

“I’m fantastic, thanks.” you reply, pulling yourself to your feet with a smothered groan. 

She does not look particularly convinced, but nods. “If you’re sure.”

You drag yourself out of the bar and into the street, determined to get back to your dorm. Pain is throbbing steadily through your arm, your nose, and your chest. You can’t tell if the alcohol is wearing off yet. You’ll probably have to find a medkit somewhere that does not belong to your best friend. 

Even slightly drunk, your brain is still going a million miles an hour, even though you’re stumbling. Fortunately, at two in the morning, there aren’t many people hanging around, and you slip through the streets, unnoticed.

You finally reach your dorm, and you shakily punch in your entrance code as you almost pray that Bones is asleep or still at the clinic or something. Anything that gives you enough time to nurse your wounds and get enough sleep to be functional for eight a.m. Tactical Command class. The door slides open, and you make a beeline for your bedroom. It only takes a cursory glance to confirm that you are, in fact, alone. Good. Like hell you’re going to explain this escapade.

As you gingerly sit down on your bed, you have to bite your lip to stifle a groan. Broken ribs, lovely. The alcohol is definitely wearing off. You probe the area after commanding the lights to 35%, trying to gauge the severity. Maybe you can hide it somehow. 

Before you can devise a way to accomplish that, though, you hear footsteps in the small hallway. Damn, so Bones is back from the clinic. You hurriedly feign sleep, throwing the blanket over your aching body. 

The door creaks open.

“Jim?” Bones sounds as tired as you feel. You don’t respond, trying not to show any signs of consciousness.

A sigh. “You can stop faking sleep now.”

You open your eyes, noticing that the blurriness is back with a vengeance. You can barely make out the blue-shirted form of your friend above you. “How’d you guess?” 

“I’m a doctor, Jim. I have the ability to tell when someone’s sleeping.” he replies, rolling his eyes. “So, what did you get yourself into this time?” His words are laced with annoyance and concern, an odd combination you’ve never really experienced.

“It’s nothing, just a few scrapes.” You’re lying through your teeth again, but you have no qualms about it right now.

“That’s bullshit and I think we both know it. Want to try again?” 

You decide to just give in. “Bar fight.”

“That’s what I thought. Come on, let me patch you up.”

Groaning, you follow him on shaky legs into the kitchen. Bracing yourself against the table, you watch as he retrieves his medkit from his clinic bag.

“Sit.” he tells you. 

When you do, he removes his tricorder from the kit and waves the device over your body.

“Must have been one hell of a fight.” he finally says, looking up from the readout. “Broken ribs, broken nose, muscle tear…not to mention the ‘few scrapes’.” 

“Guy was violent.” You just want to get this over with so you can sleep. “Not my fault.”

“Whatever you say.” Bones replies, and jabs a hypo against your neck.

“Ow, Bones! Do no harm.” you yelp, indignant.

“You’ll live.” he shoots back, putting the empty hypo back in his bag.

You unconsciously rub the area that will surely become bruised, as he affixes an osteo-regenerator to your chest. 

“You didn’t just sedate me, did you?” Your tone is as accusatory as you can manage through your own drunkenness. 

“No. But if you don’t shut up, I might.” he drawls.

And that’s the way it goes.

It’s an hour later when he finally steps back, having finished. You’re exhausted and slightly annoyed. At least he didn’t fuss, though.

“Can you walk, Jim?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. You startle slightly from your semi-conscious mindset.

“I think so,” you slur exhaustedly, making an attempt. It doesn’t go as well as you hoped.

“Dammit, kid.” Bones sounds almost amused. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

With his assistance, you end up shirtless under the same blanket from earlier. Fortunately for both of you, you’re still under the influence of the pain med he gave you earlier, and you feel your mind start to cloud again. 

“You sure you didn’t sedate me?” 

He gives you an exasperated look. “Yes.”

Before you can respond, though, you fall asleep.  
\--------

You wake up what feels like hours later, your father’s last words echoing in your ears. Your lungs are constricted from leftover terror, your heart feverishly pounding against your newly-healed ribs. 

Goddamn, why does this always happen?

You try to calm yourself down, swearing mentally. You’re used to this, but tonight-this morning?-must have been worse than usual. 

Bones must’ve heard you, because there’s a gruff “You okay, Jim?” from the doorway. Did you scream?

You nod, laying back down and trying to ignore the flash of pain in your chest. Your breath involuntarily quickens again. 

“Dammit.” Bones says, crossing the dark room. He sounds concerned, despite the fact that it’s 4 in the morning and you both got less than two hours of sleep. “Calm down and take a breath.”

You listen, and the twinge slowly eases. “Sorry. Nightmare.”

“Well, I figured that much out. You started yelling, sounded like you were fighting off a Klingon or something.” 

“A Romulan, actually. My dad.” You say by way of explanation. 

You can tell the puzzle pieces are coming together for him. “You’re a damn fool, you know that?” 

“How could I not?” you nearly smirk, against your general mindset. “’least my dad was never in any bar fights. Hero of the Kelvin, y’know.”

He gives you a strange look. “Do I need to go get my tricorder again? You’re sounding delirious.”

“No.” you say, way too quickly. “Could you stay, actually?” You hate how pathetic you sound, but you just can’t stand the thought of being alone again, for the millionth time.

“’Course.” Bones replies. “Move over.”

Before you know it, you’re curled up next to him. The last thing you are aware of before you sleep is a kiss pressed gently to your forehead.


End file.
